


Dark Paradise

by Soul4Sale



Series: Friends For Hire [1]
Category: Lollipop Chainsaw
Genre: AU - Canon Divergent, AU - Friends For Hire, Abuse, Anal, Angst, Biting, Bottom!Swan, Bruises, Bullying, Creeper!Lewis, Drug Use, Drunken Trysts, F/M, Fluff, Gay, Het, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Language, M/M, Mentions of dub-con, Multi, Oral, Pining, Power Bottom, Pre-Slash, Recreational Drug Use, Self-imposed Orgasm Denial, Slash, Thirsty!Lewis Legend, Top!Lewis Legend, Un-Beta’d, Underage Drinking, Yaoi, alcohol use, straight - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6208009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul4Sale/pseuds/Soul4Sale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One bad decision breeds a thousand more, and Lewis would give up anything to be the man he was the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Live While We're Young

**Author's Note:**

> So, this idea has been sitting around for a while, and now I’m unable to let it just go. So, I figured I could try and get some of this started up. I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> The Friends For Hire AU involves Swan summoning the Dark Purveyors to be his friends and protectors. He has them move into his house, and his parents are away on almost-permanent vacations. They just let him have run of the house and he has a fairly deep stipend to take care of things (food, housing, bills, etc). I will have all Friends For Hire AU related things tagged as such. ouo On to the story!

Lewis rolled his tongue, thick and pungent, around his mouth for possibly the fiftieth time that day, and it was only 9:30. Guarding Swan was one thing, but crawling out of his cool, dark room to join the boy at school today was probably one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Last night had been a wild party, and he wasn’t sure he’d last the day out with this bad a hangover, on top of being dead. 

Then again, what had they expected? In retrospect, giving a damn viking zombie a giant, flying airship was probably the worst idea in all of Rotten World. It had seemed the best the night before, of course, when he’d taken it over to some Nordic country or another, and terrorized a town until they gave up their best, most hard-hitting alcohol. Now, Vikke was a big guy, imposing and intimidating, and it had only taken thirty-eight shots before he and Zed had started hollering and whooping, naked and testing the weight of the large wooden dining table in Swan’s home. Nobody really could pin just when Mariska had lost her clothes, but it hadn’t taken long before she was crooning songs to Mother Moon and talking about all things Vaginal. Josey had found his fun in teasing the Nord, his jacket missing but that damnable diaper still in place, shaking it like he expected cash to rain from the sky. Sometime between him dry-humping Vikke and Zed joining in brokenly with Mariska’s music, it had happened.

Swan came, in his mussed, ‘after school’ way, wearing nothing but a black band shirt and a pair of silky boxers, of course in black, framed by the light from the dining room. He’d yelled at them, told them to tear this party down and get the fuck inside, that this was causing trouble with the neighbors and he couldn’t handle another fine, but Lewis didn’t hear a single word. That black-stained mouth forming around his every word caught him like a physical blow to the chest, and he hadn’t been able to control what had happened next. 

Of course, one power of alcohol was that it liked to erase the important bits. He could still see the impossible shape of Vikke’s dick in his mind’s eye, but everything after the rough kiss he’d given their master was long gone. It came in small snippets, the sight of those thin hips canting up into him, the taste of Swan’s soft skin on his tongue, the non-stop cries of ‘more, more’. The details were foggy enough that he wanted to beat his own face in. 

When they’d woken up, cuddled up in Swan’s four poster canopy bed, shit hit the fan. Swan was panicked, covered in the indentions of Lewis’ teeth, bruises and bitemarks and the crud beneath his fingernails. As if it would help the situation, the zombie had offered that it didn’t have to mean anything, it was just a one-time thing, if it never happened again, he’d be fine. 

But he _wouldn’t_ be fine. 

He’d be on his second deathbed still dreaming of the hazy memory of having Swan at his mercy.

Swan’s mind was a muddled mess, today. It was hard to focus on his physics lecture when every time he shifted, he felt how empty he was. Every shift of clothing against his skin made him gasp, and he had to close his eyes and bite his lip, waxy flavored blackness marring his white teeth as he tried not to make any noise. Between trying desperately to stay still and taking notes at the same time, he was already losing his mind.

How could Lewis have done this to him? Taken him, over and over again, so drunk he didn’t remember and so careless as to say it ‘meant nothing’ to him. When he’d walked outside the night before, he hadn’t expected to be bent up and eaten alive, losing every plausible Vcard imaginable to a zombie that didn’t care what happened the next day. The Dark Purveyors were supposed to be his _friends_ , and here they were, probably mocking him. It hurt to think that the second he and Lewis stepped out of this classroom, the zombie would be busy flipping skirts with his smiles and schmoozing his way to a thousand phone numbers before lunch. He was charming, attractive, and attentive enough to warrant anyone’s attention, and it stabbed at the necromancer’s heart like a thousand icicles. Oh, that was good. He should write that down. 

The bell ringing above them only made pale yellow eyes narrow. Lewis Legend was about to start a blood feud with the sun and anything that made noise, because, damn it, a dead brain with a hangover couldn’t have possibly been worse. Closing his eyes to avoid watching Swan hiss and whine and wiggle as he rose, it wasn’t until he opened his eyes again that he’d noticed he’d lost the other. 

Honestly, there was one thing about this whole ‘school’ deal that sat wrong with him. The classes were one thing, some of them were challenging, but that wasn’t the problem. What became his biggest problem was that the students seemed to think it was okay to touch Swan. That they were entitled to being capable of pushing him, or bumping his shoulder. So what, if Lewis could chat some honking geese away from his master, he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

Sluggish blood pumped quicker through his veins as he jerked out into the hallway, pale eyes scanning the hallway for dark, teased hair and pale makeup. No good, he couldn’t see Swan at all. A small group of girls tried to talk to him, but he brushed past them, suddenly all sharp edges and an indomitable will to find his master before something happened to him. He parted the crowd of students like the red sea, every last one of them giving him the biggest berth possible as his hand reached back and he pulled his guitar around front, eyes narrowing on a smudge of white powder on the outside of the boys’ room on this side of the building. A feral growl parted his lips, the black of his gums bared as he slammed the door open hard enough it cracked the smooth tile behind it. 

“Where. Is. He.” It was less a question and more a demand to be acknowledged as it wrenched, gravelly and dark, from his lips. Perhaps he should have focused more on the cowering boys that must have captured his master, but all he saw was Swan, strung up like some kind of gothic Jesus between two urinals, out cold. It was one thing for his master not to want him to help, but for him not to have called any of the others? Something must have really been wrong.

“Zed.” In a flare of red flames, the zombie in question appeared behind Lewis, eyes narrowed and bowl of cereal forgotten. His mic stand rest in his hand, brandished like a staff at his side. The skinny Dark Purveyor sidled up to his fellow protector’s side, a snarl on his face, as the next one arrived in a blue strike of lightning at the call of his name.

“Vikke.” The imposing Nord filled the bathroom well enough on his own, pressing the insubordinate cretins to the walls with his sheer size, but the second he caught sight of Swan, limp like that, there was the growl of Yumil to help make his voice heard.

“Mariska.” Green smoke filled the room, reminiscent of the scent of skunk, and focused her good eye on their master. 

“Josey.” With a cloud of fresh smoke rolling from his mouth, purple flames welcomed the last member of the group into the bathroom, and all it took was a slant of Lewis’ eyes to get the bathroom cleared.

“Get out.” Was added on their heels, and he sauntered over to pick up their poor master, coddling his limp body close to his chest. The other four dispersed as Lewis focused on their home, disappearing in a cloud of black smoke, Swan’s head pillowed on the worn leather of his jacket.


	2. Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lewis takes care of Swan at home, while the rest of the group takes care of his classes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I started writing this earlier but I had to take some breaks. I worked on playing Lewis’ level again just to kind of give me a refresher. His voice destroys me, it really does. Deep down, I think it destroys Swan, too. Anyway, this is just another chapter up, hope you guys enjoy!

Swan’s milky eyes blinked open slowly, the smoky, dark amber tone of Lewis’ voice at the foot of his bed welcoming him back to life. He could almost taste the smoke in the air, see the tables of men and women sitting in the bar, bathed in the soft light of candles, listening to the intoxicating, deep, gravelly words as they fell from his lips like they were written only for him. Every morose note plucked by his long, thin fingers only melded with his crooning to make the human male sigh as he slowly found himself coming to.

Absently rubbing at his eyes, the contacts on his pale green eyes slipped and he was forced to pull them, the movement enough to catch the zombie seated in the bean bags at the foot of his bed. Guitar set aside, resting gently on the stand he’d moved from his room to Swan’s, he rose, hunched and almost submissive in his movements. 

“I understand if you didn’t want to call me.” He spoke, the usual growl of his voice almost schooled down to a whisper, “But any of the others could have helped you.” Sure, Zed and Mariska had been working on breakfast, Vikke was still trying to collect himself from the backyard, and Josey had found a comfortable place on the couch for video games, but any one of them would have appeared just at Swan’s croak of their name. Sure, sometimes they picked on Swan, but it was all in good fun; each and every one of them would have laid down their half-lives for his in a heartbeat. 

Through their times, they had had hundreds of masters, and every single one had been the same. _Die for me, die so that I might be powerful and destroy the world._ And every damn time, someone would crop up to stop them. Man, woman, child, elderly, someone always rose to the occasion and put their plans to bed.

But Swan was different.

 _Be my friends._

The poor boy lived out his existence on this God-forsaken spit of rock with nobody around to give him a chance. He was ridiculed, removed from society, reclusive, even to his own parents. Not that they ever really gave him a chance. They paid for him to live, to eat, to have whatever he needed, and often left him stranded in the grand eight-bedroom house by himself. Kids his age were vicious when it came to anyone who was different, even in a minute way, and Swan had never really hidden his dark side. He figured if people were going to give him a chance, he may as well let it all hang out. Being a quiet kid that dressed up for school everyday with white makeup and black lipstick hadn’t been the best way for him to make friends. Their gothic master had felt the only way to possibly have any was to summon them.

And, to be honest, it was the first ties of friendship that any of them had ever had. There was the undercurrent of an order, sure, but every last one of them felt something shift when Swan’s only request of them was to be his friends. Friendship was something that they had felt during life, at least a few, but they had never thought that their undead lives would entail being someone’s _friend_.

So, yeah, maybe Zed was kind of hard on him sometimes. Mariska could be careless about where her clothes ended up, even if they weren’t partying. Vikke was a man of few words, preferring to clean up after himself only when the mess was in the way. Josey had a tendency to smoke coke and play videogames for hours instead of actually focusing on most problems. And Lewis… Lewis apparently just wanted to eat him alive, to claim and mark him up until nobody questioned who he belonged to.

But they all cared, in their own way.

“I didn’t get a chance.” Swan’s voice was rough, hoarse from sleep. “They knocked me out right outside the bathroom before I even saw it coming.” Looking down, he had to pause, seeing that he had been changed into a tight band shirt and the silky red boxers he had thought had gone missing. “Lewis, what--”

“I took the liberty to clean you up. You smelled like piss.” Lewis could smell like his corpse had sat out in the sun for a thousand years, but Swan had a scent to him, like orchids and moonlight, that he would soon die again for rather than smell it tarnished. “Figured you would be more comfortable if you weren’t wearing your usual.” 

Sure, Lewis, lie to him. Make sure they were pretty lies, ones he could believe, and, most definitely, sit forward to hide the tent in those tight jeans. It wouldn’t do to let his master on to how much he envied the man he had been last night. Staying firmly planted on the bean bags he’d stretched out on, he turned his head to look at the other.

“Oh.” _Oh._ That was all he had to say. “Did you give me a shower?” All of that teased hair lay limp and lifeless around his shoulders, now, and he smelled like he’d had the full treatment.

“Yeah. Figured you could use a bath after whatever those assholes managed to do to you before I found you.” The second he had, oh, he had been ready to rain doom and destruction on those boys. What he wouldn’t allow himself to do, however, was jeopardize Swan.

For the trouble of having to take his clothes off and wash him up without touching anything for too long, he’d figured he could put Swan in whatever outfit he’d like to see him in. 

“Thanks, Lewis.” Tugging uselessly at the black and silver velvet comforter beneath him, he managed to wiggle around until he could tug it up to his chin. “I’m feeling… Sick. Headache.” But he didn’t sound like he believed his own lie.

“Right.” Lewis didn’t sound very convinced, either, to be honest. Even still, he rose, hefting his guitar in one hand and the stand in the other. “You get some rest, Master.” It was like everything they had had, the nonchalance in their relationship,, the closeness had all melted away between blinks that morning. “If you need anything, you can call for me. I’ll be in my room.”

As luck would have it, Lewis’ room was one to the right of Swan’s, with Mariska in the middle. Zed was across the hall with Vikke and Josey, and the main bedroom lay at the end of the hallway, locked as usual. 

“What about school, today?” This question stopped the lanky zombie in the doorway, and he glanced back, a small smirk on his lips.

“The others are handling that for you, today. Free of charge.” 

Back at San Romero High School, the gym teacher looked up at the man that was trying to pass himself off as Swan. He knew that Swan was pale and had dark hair, wore weird makeup, but this was… Ridiculous.

“Maybe we have the wrong Swan, er--”

“No. I Swan today.” Vikke told him, patting his chest hard enough to jostle Yumil on his shoulder. Eyeing the rope dangling, thin and unimpressive, from the ceiling, he stomped one large foot, sending a few students tumbling back. “No, too easy. We show strength old-fashioned way. We wrestle. Last one standing, wrestle Yumil.” With that, the viking threw himself at the first kid to catch his ire, the poor thing going down without much more than a yelp.

Josey had taken up a spot in the bleachers in the gym, watching his lover pick through the students like they were toothpicks. Of _course_ the bear of a man would be the one to wrestle Yumil. Having not been allowed his usual fix inside the school, he held a cigarette between his lips, absently flicking the Zippo in his hand open and closed. The faulty wiring in this place meant the sprinkler system wouldn’t go off, but still, it was fun to provoke the teacher even if he wouldn’t do anything. The rot on the two teens was enough to make people think twice before messing with them, but the face paint, their general disregard for most others and themselves, well, that put another damper on anyone’s parade if they wanted to tell the Dark Purveyors what to do.

Zed, with a little bump in his system, was filling notebooks in Swan’s English class, eyes flicking between the board, the teacher and every line he scratched into the paper. He always _had_ had a way with words, after all. 

And Mariska, she was heading up his art class. If she were honest, what she had erected in the center of the classroom had nothing to do with the assignment. But what was painting a celebrity in monochrome to the art community? No, her masterpiece would ring in through the ages, it would be worshipped on the front lawn of this school. Boys and girls alike had gathered around, gawking at the odd sight of the rather vagina-shaped sailboat, uncertain as to what called to them about it. With sails at full mast and waves crashing up against the bottom, she was working on a piece that would go down in the history books. The statue was going to be marvellous when it was finished and painted, and even the teacher couldn’t ask her to stop. ‘Swan’ was going to get an A for this, no questions asked.

“School is nothing for you to worry about.” Lewis finally stated, smiling a bit. “Just rest, Master, we’ll have you taken care of for the day. When everyone gets home from school, we’ll go out for milkshakes or something.” It was with this that the fifth Dark Purveyor exited the room, closing the door behind him. 

Nobody could blame him if he waited on the other side of the door until he heard Swan’s heartbeat slow, and his breathing coming in soft, gentle puffs. Something drew him back inside the younger man’s room, and he settled into the caravan rocking chair that his little writer liked to make the magic happen in. Strumming at his guitar again, he hummed softly so as not to disturb the other. He didn’t really _need_ to sleep, and tapping at the body of the guitar gave him something to do other than stare at the slumbering teen not even five feet away.


	3. I'm Outta My Mind And I'm Outta My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mariska gives Lewis the push he needs to lay his cards on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I’m glad I finally got to this chapter. ouo I’m hoping to update this a little more frequently, and with any luck, I’ll get back into the swing of things and get it done. I’m still not sure how long this will be, I’ll probaby know the closer I get to the end. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Special shout out to Wolf, who was the first commenter on Ao3. I’m so glad you like this, bud. I hope to keep impressing!

Having slipped into a somewhat comatose state, Lewis didn’t hear the front door bang open when everyone arrived home from school. It was their loud, boisterous talking (or was that just Zed?) that jarred him from his staring, and he rose slowly from the chair he’d taken up, glad that Swan had yet to wake. He supposed it was time to go shut the party down before it _did_ bother him enough to rouse him. 

Stiffly walking for the door, he tossed one more glance at the slowly breathing creature laying among all that empty bed by himself, before finally letting himself out. Stopping at the stairwell, he glared at his fellow zombies, a look that seemed lost on every last one of them.

“Will the lot of you just _shut up_?” He snarled, catching the attention of Zed enough to get the Double Finger Defense.

“Piss off.” The punk rolled his eyes, “What, are you scared we’re gonna wake Sleeping Beauty?” 

“He’s been asleep all day.”

“Then it’s time for him to wake the fuck up!” It didn’t take long before he was yelling again, and Lewis was taking the steps three at a time to pin the annoying redhead up against the wall, hand clamped tight over his jaw.

“Shut. Up.” A slant of his eyes and a promise in his snarl, had Zed going limp, more or less just to be released so he could speak again.

“You get a little tail and suddenly nobody’s good enough?” The punk spat, a deranged smirk on his face, “I think someone’s got it bad, and the poor little guy doesn’t even _know_ , does he?”

“I am three seconds away from sending you back to Rotten World in a handbasket.” That low growl was enough to have Josey busting in between them, pushing Zed further into the wall and Lewis more into the open living room behind him.

“Hey, now, guys, no need to get mean.” He offered, smiling like an idiot. “How about we do a couple lines, relax, and leave Lewis’ big ass crush to him?” 

“It’s not a--”

“Brother Lewis, really,” Mariska pressed her hand to his head, and a pins and needles sort of feeling pulsed through his brain, “You want him bad enough, love will find a way. It always does.” With an enigmatic smile, she walked between the three men, heading for the kitchen.

At the top of the stairs, a hazy Swan swayed a little, rubbing at his face and watching the small group of zombies, the front door still open behind them.

“Guys, can you close the door, please?” He questioned, absently rubbing one eye, now void of contacts. Those pale green pools nearly had Lewis backing up and doing as he asked without taking his eyes off him, the breath he hadn’t realized he’d taken punched right from his undead chest. Maybe it had been a mistake to put Swan in that outfit, because he was positive that, any second now, he was going to pick their little master up and carry him back to his room, because _nobody_ else deserved to see him in it.

Walking down the stairs slowly, the hazy noiret yawned wide behind his hand, and the strongest Dark Purveyor had to turn his head away to keep from staring. He’d done quite enough of that today, already. And if he kept watching how red marks clawed up those pale legs, he knew he’d lose his mind. Taking his leave and walking to the with his hands up as soon as he heard Zed begin to speak. Of course, it didn’t really stop him from hearing what the loudmouth had to say.

“So, _master_ ,” Zed had a way of saying things that were supposed to be honorific and making them sound positively below him, “Did you have a fun day with Lewis?” His grin was so loud it could be heard in his voice. Swan, sleepily moving to curl up on the couch and pull Yumil over himself like a blanket, shot him a half-asleep glare that didn’t seem to have much of an effect.

“Fuck off, Zed. I have a killer headache.”

“Headache?” Vikke questioned, finally finished setting Josey up with his coke fix at the table and lumbering over to stand behind the couch. “I fix. Old family remedy.” The ‘oh no’ that left the much smaller man didn’t even phase the viking as he reached down and took hold of both sides of his head. With a swift snap, he jerked Swan’s head one way, then the other, and finished off by rubbing thick fingers over his neck, right above his spine. “Eh?” He looked proud of himself, chest puffed out and a grin in place.

Blinking, and awfully surprised that that hadn’t killed him, the goth looked up at the other and smiled slowly.

“That… Feels a lot better, actually. Thank you.” Rising from his curled state on the couch to stretch again, he wiggled his hips a little, only getting prodded in the ass by Zed as he walked by to crash on the couch.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Mariska was putting the finishing touches on her latest batch of space cakes, as Lewis peered over her shoulder.

“Is there something that you need, Lewis?” The hippie questioned, dipping her finger in the gooey batter and humming at the flavor on her tongue. Chewing his tongue a little, the stronger zombie finally sighed.

“So, it’s no secret that I like him.” Even still, he kept his voice down. The boys seemed to be being pretty loud, but he didn’t want Swan to hear him too soon. “But what does he think of me? He panicked this morning.” The look in those yellowy eyes was obvious; he didn’t like the thought of being rejected by the one man he was certain he loved. A soft giggle left the baking zombie, who poured out her batter in the pan and set it to baking, clapping her hands together as she wiped them almost comically.

“Brother Lewis, you shouldn’t let fear keep you from what your heart desires. Just kiss him, tell him how you feel. And try being sober next time you fuck him.” That charming smile she offered him offset her words in a weird way in his gut, and the greaser ran his hands over his hair nervously.

“What if he pushes me away?”

“If you love him, let him go. If he comes back, he was always yours.” In that enigmatic way of hers, she seemed to practically float from the kitchen and right into Zed’s arms, kissing him down from the teasing he’d started in on. “Leave him be, love. I think it’s time I tell you about my sculpture.” She whispered into her lover’s arms, the punk giving a whoop and holler as they nearly charged up the stairs to his room.

Lewis strode into the room with the clink of his metal-tipped boots against the tile switching to the thud of his heavy steps on the carpet, ignoring Vikke and Josey who had started up their usual game of seeing how wrecked they could get before someone made them stop. Turning on his most charming smile and ‘come get me’ eyes, he sat calmly beside Swan on the couch, though his heart sputtered as it tried to keep his sluggish blood going. He took the human’s hands in his cold ones, and those shockingly pale green eyes turned on him, stopping him cold before he forced himself to keep going. Lifting that shaking hand to his lips, he pressed them, chill and cracked, to the other’s knuckles, closing his eyes.

“Mind if I talk to you?” He questioned, yellow melting into green as he saw those pursed lips turn into a shaky, almost watery smile.

“Sure.” Came the soft reply, a soft noise leaving him as Lewis rose and drug him up with him. They walked slowly up the stairs, back to Swan’s room, their fingers intertwined and a soft blush coloring the human’s cheeks.


	4. My Love Will Never Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Lewis’ cool demeanor cracks for a moment, Swan knows he’s in for an interesting explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I sat on this for so long, now, I’m not even sure when I wrote it. Shortly after I posted chapter three, but I hadn’t wanted to type it up. Since I’m going through and typing up everything I have finished, I thought I’d go ahead and jump on this, because this fic is still really near and dear to my heart and I desperately want to add some more chapters to it. I hope you guys enjoy this!

Clouds outside seemed to darken the room, and it only seemed to make the goth’s skin even paler. As he collapsed onto his bed, those jade eyes focused on the zombie, Swan looked like some kind of beautiful, broody portrait. The shadows danced over his thin frame, exaggerating certain features and diminishing others. Lewis, usually so full of poetry and never one to hold his tongue, was at a loss for words. As the human reached for the Darth Vader Pez dispenser on his bedside, the zombie nearly lost it.

Busying himself with sitting in Swan’s gregarious desk chair, he did himself proud with how his yellowy eyes found anything _but_ the way Swan ate his impromptu snack. It was obvious the mortal loved those stupid, sugary rectangles with the way his tongue coaxed them from their plastic prison, and the zombie knew better than to watch. Of course, Swan wasn’t near as hungry as he hoped Lewis thought he was.

Every time those eyes landed on him, he felt like an injured gazelle staring down a starved lion. The silence between them seemed to stretch on, and the nervous human sighed, finally, tugging at his shirt to hide another mark.

“I thought you wanted to talk.” Swan’s attempt to sound impartial missed completely, and he huffed a little at how pathetic he sounded.

“I… Yeah, Kitty-Cat.” Lewis’ fingers absently trailed over his hardened hair, and it’s his turn to sigh, next. “Yeah, I did want to talk.” It seemed his kitty cat had caught his tongue, though, because all words died in his throat. Rolling his tongue in his mouth, he tried to wet his suddenly parched lips. He was a damned zombie, his throat was always dry, but trust it to be uncomfortably useless when he really needed it.

“Then talk?” Jade green eyes focused on dim yellow ones, and the zombie wasn’t sure how he stayed in that chair, but part of him figured he deserved a reward.

“Look, I know that I wasn’t in my right mind last night,” Those words seemed to wilt the human, but Lewis kept going, “But I couldn’t be more jealous of the man I was, because he clearly got to have a fantastic time with you. You’re so much different than any master we’ve ever had, and I know I still…” It was here that he trailed off, the eager look on the human’s face stilling his breath (that he didn’t even need, he reminded himself), “I was drunk, and you were beautiful. Now, I’m sober, and you’re breathtaking.”

The rush of blood to his cheeks had the goth looking down shyly, hands in his lap tensing and laxing slowly. Well, that was something he hadn’t expected from the handsome teen before him, and between one blink and the next, he found his calves pressed to the wicker walls of the chair’s armrests. Crawling into Lewis’ lap, feeling strong arms curl tight around his waist, Swan frowned a little.

“Then why did you say all that shit about it not meaning anything?” Confusion was clear in the mortal’s voice as he let his frown nearly control his face, glowing in his eyes and the crease of his forehead.

“Because I figured that was what you wanted to hear.” Lewis hadn’t been ready for the slap to his shoulder, but the huffy goth in his lap still made him chuckle deeply.

“You asshole! You take my virginity and think I _want_ to hear that it meant nothing to you?” Smacking that leather-clad shoulder a few more times for good measure, Swan pouted, missing the thick swallow that Lewis offered him, “How could that be what I wanted to hear?”

“Are you fucking _serious_ right now?” The Lewis from last night couldn’t have been envied more by the Lewis of today if he tried. A little moan left him at the thought, “I’d give anything to have you again.” If Swan had thought the news of his virginity would quell the fire in the undead’s belly, he was dead wrong. In fact, all it did was launch him from his seat with that predatory gleam in his eyes, pushing Swan back onto the bed and into his soft comforter.

Crawling over Swan with a feline grace, all rolling shoulders and careful movements, the zombie connected their lips slowly. The amount of gentle care that went into the kiss shocked the slighter male still, finally pushing back into the kiss as he sighed. Breaking for air, he panted softly against the other’s mouth, breath mingling with nothingness.

“So, you _do_ like me?” The question was quiet, maybe even pensive, and as he gazed up his nose to the sharp featured male above him, he felt his heart skip a beat.

“It’s… More than that, kitten.” The rocker spoke, a sheepish look on his sharp face, “I would rot the world beyond words for you. You are… The ginchiest.” A little chuckle bordering on shy left the greaser, now, and he glanced down like he ight have felt shame in using such a word.

“Ginchiest?” Forcing himself not to laugh, Swan couldn’t help the breathless way his voice left him.

“Don’t go teasing the tiger, kitten. It might end up eating you alive.” Growled the zombie, nipping his master’s nose before resting their foreheads together. Swan couldn’t deny that the smell this close was awful, but somehow it only added to his mood. He might have to have a long conversation with the school psychologist about his desire to kiss a dead guy.

“I’d say I was already eaten alive last night, wouldn’t you?” He retorted sassily, raising one eyebrow.

“You little minx, I might have to work a little harder, find places I missed.”

Without much of a space between words and actions, Lewis’ lips wrapped around the joining of Swan’s neck and shoulder. Teeth scraped over flesh and the zombie felt the jolt of pleasure bolting south, a moan only sounding that he was doing a good job. He had to admit, he nearly whimpered when frantic hands pushed his face away, saliva tethering him to the quivering teen’s neck.

“H-hold on, Lewis, I--”

“You don’t like it?” Gulping, the zombie started back, his motions jerky and such a drastic change that Swan found himself following, “It’s alright, I probably read you wro--”

“That’s not…” Still gasping for breath, the necromancer sighed, “Not what I meant. I.. Want to take this slow, you know?” Oh, red was most _certainly_ the green eyed male’s color, the blush on his cheeks was phenomenal on so many levels.

“Slow…?” His question came out confused, and the Dark Purveyor had to blink a few times and adjust himself in his pants before it seemed to click and his entire face lit up with recognition. _That_ was most definitely a _yes_.

“I can do slow, Kitty Cat.” Purred the undead, whose body slid back as though left on rewind. Smoothing out his hair, dusting off his pants with his free hand, he shot Swan a winning smile. “Be ready at six, babe. We’re going out for dinner, just you and me.”

Stammering at the other’s back, the necromancer sat up and watched his door close. Glancing at the glaring red numbers of his clock, he gasped; He only had two and a half hours to get ready! It was about time he jump on that.

As Lewis walked down the stairs, self-satisfied smirk in place, Vikke peeked up over the magazine he’d been looking at.

“Get date?” The hulk of a man asked, getting a click of Lewis’ tongue and double finger guns for an answer as the other zombie disappeared into the garage. He needed to be sure his Ellyphant was ready for tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I spent a good deal of time on this one, and I’m actually rather happy with it. ouo I hope you guys enjoy this~ It’s a lot of fun to write. The next chapter shouldn’t be too far away~


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